He came with music on his tongue,
A voice like velvet, low and strong,
Each note a thread that softly spun
Into the fabric where hearts belong.

His lute was carved of storm-worn wood,
Its strings sang tales of dusk and fire,
And in his gaze she understood
The quiet burn of deep desire.

Shea walked through winters, cold and long,
Her soul a field of barren stone,
But he, with every crafted song,
Made broken places feel like home.

The Ravenstehl crest upon his chest
Gleamed silver in the lanterna glow,
Yet what it marked was not his cresta"But the tender heart he let her know.

She fell not just for voice or art,
But for the way he saw her soul,
A bard who mended every part,
And made her shattered spirit whole.

Now every night his music weaves,
Through whispered dark and dawna first flame,
And she believes, as he believes,
That love is more than song or name.

Penned by my hand on the 14th of Solis, in the year 377 AM.